Lead Me to Heaven
by R1A
Summary: Paul Levesque has just gone through a tragic time. In depression of the previous events, he goes seeking comfort in a local bar and meets this particular lovely stranger. He tells her his story...and how the love of his life changed him into the man he is
1. Beneath the Stars I Wonder Who You Are

Paul Levesque walked into Ruby's Bar with a grim expression and a dark heart. It was Sunday and the rusty grey clock in the corner showed 7:00 p.m on it, the hands of it pointing to their designated areas. His brow was soaked in sweat, the showcase of his intense anger. His eyes looked like a chocolate blowfish and his nose was flared upwards like a bull would do when he saw the color red. His hair was wet from the outside rain and it dripped along his mundane, gothic aura clothing.

Ruby's Bar looked the same. It was a pretty big area, somewhat between a stripper joint mixed with an Applebees restaurant. Problem was, you weren't 'Eating good in the neighborhood'. In fact, it's a surprised the damn place was quarantined. The tiles, which used to be a bland cream color, were now chipped off every few feet or so, with the chips lying in the corners of the dark paneled wood walls, which were also chipped. He swore he could see a roach nearby the bar, but he could care less. He sat in a stool, which squeaked and wobbled every time someone would move in the entire place, and stared at Vic, the owner.

Vic was an old man, about 70 years of life. That's what he said anyways; Paul never really bothered to ask. Vic was nice to talk to even though he was a complete and utter slob. He was also a cynic and a narcissist, which made him quite depressing. He was unmarried and he never reproduced, but he did have a Great Dane named Ruby that was always by his side. God knows how old that dog is. Paul really didn't even want to know that. Though the dog and Vic were both staring at him, trying to search for his reason to be glum, Paul didn't feel like sharing. He just wanted a scotch on the rocks. Maybe two. Three. It didn't really matter.

Paul looked at Vic with hollow eyes, making Vic worried—well, as much as the old man could be worried. He wasn't really caring. But, even though he was not a charitable, loving person, Vic took a liking to Paul. Paul was usually energetic with a good demeanor and work ethic behind his bulky frame. Vic liked that.

"Scotch on the rocks." Paul stated, his elbows held against the bar. Reluctantly, Vic made the strong drink. Paul watched him pour it as the dark golden liquid dripped effortlessly out of the bottle and into the small glass with perfect ice cubes already slowly melting. The need for a pain killer that isn't completely toxic was driving Paul to madness. Vic sighed then handed it over, with Paul devouring it in one gulp. It was as if he was in the Sahara Desert and that was the last drink on the planet. He needed the release and numbness that being drunk would give him. He needed that tonight. Well, actually, he would need that feeling for the rest of his life.

Nothing. Nothing at all justifies the past events that have occurred this week, Paul thought to himself. He glared at the empty, disgusting room that reflected his mood perfectly, and he loathed it. He loathed it all. He loathed the floors and the dead cockroach with its legs upright. He loathed Ruby, who was staring at him with the same damn curious eyes. He loathed the blinking, dim lights. He even felt like loathing the hell out of Vic, although he didn't know why. Vic was concerned in a way, as much as he could be concerned anyways. He never really was the caring type.

Neither was Paul. Ever since he was a teenager, Paul was always a rough sort of guy. He got into many fights and had very few friends. He had a quick temper and he was hardworking. He never kept a girlfriend over two weeks, due to the fact that none of them ever satisfied him in any way. When he was young, he had always looked for that one thing in his life that would change him forever. It had happened before. In all the books he read and movies he watched, a troubled guy could be saved. Usually, the troubled guys in the books he read and movies he watched were saved by careers or women. But, since Paul never could pay attention to much besides Math, he never really got anywhere. He was a motorcycle engineer, building bikes for Harley Davidson, which he could proudly announce to the world. Before that, he drove a truck. Before that, he was in the army. And before that, he was a troubled teenager with no home, no nearby parents, a bad attitude, and no money. That doesn't necessarily call for "Man of the Year", but why should Paul care? Now that they are-…

Today was a day that made heaven cry in sorrow and hell laugh in happiness. It was definitely the worst day Paul could ever imagine, but this happened all over the world. It happens every second, minute, hour, day, week, month, and year. It never made any sense, but it happened. It was happening right now, actually.

Another three scotches into the day and Paul's vision is the equivalence of a guy who has smoked too much pot and was looking at a laser light show. He was basically just tripped out. His heart, in all of its misery, smiled in spite of the occurrences of the day. Just what I need, he thought hazily.

Paul was right but yet completely wrong. He didn't need this. He needed to face the fact of life that many people have trouble facing. He didn't need to bury himself in self pity and wallow in a drink brewed from grain that made people drunk off of their asses. And for what? Paul was just going to have a headache in the morning.

Oh how did that morning come…

It was the next day, which meant Paul's location had not changed. Well, his location in his location had changed. Originally, he was upright in one of the damned seats that seemed to never stop moving or squeaking. Today, he was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, wallowing in grief and throbbing from a headache. He had a flannel shirt draped over him. Vic, he thought to himself. Out of the morbid kindness in his heart, Vic attempted to put a cover on Paul, which was quite silly. Paul was in a black suit that was loosened up at the jacket and loosened buttons hung from the main shirt. There was no tie and his pants hung due to the lack of a belt to keep them up.

He grumbled to his feet and he heard a voice.

"Rough night?" the woman said in a low chuckle. He smiled weakly once he saw who was speaking. He didn't really catch her face, but he did look at her dark curls. He sat beside her, not knowing any different. What else could he do?

"You have no idea," he huffed out in a weak attempt to put a joking tone into his voice. She chuckled again, stirred what was in her cup with a spoon, and spoke again.

"Well, I probably could. All you would have to do is tell me, you know."

"Yes, I know."

A long pause filled the air before she spoke again, this time with a bit of insistence.

"So, what is bothering you?"

"My wife left me."

"Oh? I'm sorry…"

"So am I…" he trailed off, not really knowing what to say. What can you say? 'No, its fine. We've only spent years together. No worries. I'll find a new one.'

"You must've really loved her." she said, chuckling under her breath. He didn't bother looking at her.

"Why do you say that?"

"I'm assuming that's her name tattooed on your hand?"

He looked on his hand and his face grew morose and his eyes dropped. He had forgotten about that. Her name was right there on his skin in elegant cursive. He sighed and hid his hand under his suit sleeve, trying to forget.

"It is." He stated. The stranger nodded.

"Well, the way you're acting you seriously loved her."

"I do…"

"Behind every couple, there is a love story waiting to be told, you know." She said, sipping out of her glass. Paul paused and glanced over at the stranger, whose face had been dimmed from the lights. Her skin was dark though. Why did she want to know about him and his wife?

"What's your point?"

"I want to hear it."

"Why is that?" Paul questioned, sipping the glass of water Vic had left on the bar for him whenever he got up.

"Because, by the way you act, you won't be on the Earth much longer to tell it. And you know what they all say. Every woman loves a good love story." She said. Paul could hear the smile in her voice. He pondered it a minute, still stating questions in his mind, but he shrugged his shoulders. Meh, what the hell, he thought to himself.

He stretched and took another sip of water, "Where do you want me to start this story?"

"Where all good stories start. The beginning."

He struggled to remember for a moment, trying to figure out where to start. He shrugged again and decided to start the story from the time when he was a teenager. A scary, angry teenager with an abyss of hate in his heart. He was going to start off at his beginning because he knew that, in order to fully understand a story, you had to know the two parts that made up the story.

With another sip of water, he began.

"It was around an entire decade ago….I was 16…"


	2. Above the Ground I Wonder Who I Am

So, sitting in a bar that resembled a dumpster, Paul told the story to the strange woman that was holding his interest. The story he and the love of his existence, Stephanie, created. The story has a beginning, middle, and an end, just like all stories do. Unfortunately, the ending came too soon for Paul.

Paul told the stranger he and Stephanie's story, and it went a little something like this…

'He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man' –Avenged Sevenfold.

Part 1 –The Beginning-

Paul Levesque stood under Delaine Bridge, a cigarette in his mouth and thievery on his mind. He was about 17 years old, the time where any normal boy his age would be into cars, sports, girls, video games, drinking, or sex. Hell, maybe all six. But, no. Paul was that one teenage boy who instead was reading constantly under a bridge, where he could hear all of the cars going by above him. He even got to the point to where he could actually tell what kind of engine and transmission the car had, even if it was only by sound. He had a love for machines, but his passion was probably bikes and no, we are not talking about those little boy bicycles with the little bell on them that you had to rotate your feet in order to get the son of a bitch to move any. No, no we are talking about Choppers and Harley Davidson motorcycles. Paul always had a fetish for motorcycles. He just loved them. If he hadn't gotten kicked out by his pops 6 months ago, he'd probably be working his way to motorcycle construction, but with the way things were now, he probably would be lucky to get a job at McDonald's.

October was the month as Paul sat under this bridge, his ass on a blanket and a book in his hands. He was reading all of the works of William Shakespeare, because he already finished Walt Whitman, Edgar Allan Poe, and Mark Twain. Paul loved to read as well. He would read anything that appealed to him. He didn't have a problem with picking up a Nicholas Sparks novel and watching two people fall madly in love with one another, even though he felt that it was pure fiction and utter bullshit. He didn't really believe in love, or rather he didn't believe in how it was represented. People advertise love as if it is something that is unbroken and untainted. Paul pretty much shakes his head at the thought, telling himself 'If that is so true, then there wouldn't be wives killing husbands, husbands beating wives, parents beating children, children killing parents and sisters and other family members, and there wouldn't be backstabbing friends or cheating lovers.'

Love is a lot like the wind, in its way that it changes its course all of the time.

Paul believed whom you love today, you may hate tomorrow. So, that's why it was better to not love anything for him.

Paul was actually reading Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare, which the whole concept of this eternal love nonsense was making his head ache. He put the book down and took out his cigarette; blowing smoke out of his mouth and making his heart rate go down. Smoking calmed him when his thoughts wouldn't, which was a lot of the time that it was actually needed.

He needed to make a bust tonight. He needed some money for food and to buy a new book because he was meeting his end in this one. He didn't steal things just to do it. He stole because he needed to survive in this damned place. He lived in a city where crime was the top ranking of 'Why People Avoid this Place'. There were homeless people lined up along the alleyways, high off of narcotics and drugs they spent their life devoting to. Other homeless people were crazy from the madness of how they had even got to this low of a position in life. Paul has even seen some kids homeless, dirty, and shaking from the severity of the weather outside. It broke Paul on the inside, made his heart harder and harder to break through. Paul had always had a soft spot for kids. He thought that kids were even smarter than adults. They didn't kill each other over the color of skin or a piece of paper with a number written on it that apparently meant it had 'value'. Paul always thought kids had an amazing innocence about them, and that adults were the real idiots. Paul acted like a kid himself at times, but any person will at times. There wasn't anything wrong with going back to the days where fairies were real and cars could fly, as far as Paul was concerned. He went back to thinking of those kids, quaking at the thought of it.

"Just leave it alone," he muttered to himself. Putting out the cigarette, stomping on it, and breathing the last breath of nicotine, he went back to his original thoughts.

He needed to steal something. There were multiple options bending to his will. He could steal a car and sell it to Pipe, a Hispanic car mechanic who hotwired cars for various gangs in the city. He could do it simply, pick pocketing a necklace or wallet and get a few bucks out of that. Honestly, he really didn't need the cop notoriety of grand theft auto, so he settled for the second option.

He still needed to go to Pipe though, for showering and grooming needs. His hair was greased from a few weeks of the lack bathing that came with this lifestyle. His eyes were dry and he had a bit of acne on his left cheek. His lips were chapped and he had a crazy beard. All of that would need to be fixed if he were going to do what he had planned in his mind. That was, to go to the most elegant restaurant in the city, Juliardette, and steal a fine piece of extravagance from that vicinity. The people there always loved to brag about what they had, although that's just human nature and Paul was quite glad the rich people did such. He wouldn't have gotten the books in hardback edition if it weren't for the women's bracelets that they left dangled on the table. He wouldn't have gotten some of his very warm clothes if it weren't for that Rollex watch the 29 year old billionaire had left in the men's bathroom.

Who would be the victim now?

Smirking at the brilliance, Paul got off of his ass and lit up another cigarette. Pipe and he were close friends, but not as close as Pipe's cousin, Shawn and he were. Shawn was the mouth of any operation a criminal was to pull. He had the charisma and talent of a con artist, which was what Paul needed.

Afternoon turns to nocturnal delight as Paul reached Pipe's place. Along the way, he saw Juliardette, the restaurant he would have to get into in a few days. He had been here before, but the layout of the restaurant grew blurry in his brain as he tried to remember it, and he sighed. Pulling out a bobby pin that he always kept in his pocket, he went to unlock the front door before he stopped. Wouldn't a fancy restaurant have a security system? Yes, of course they would.

They would at the front door…

But would they at the back?

Looking to the left then to right, Paul goes down the alleyway that is besides the building, then goes to another alleyway to the right, coming right up behind the building. Right there was a dark red door that melted in with the brick, along with copper locks and handle. They obviously didn't want people to see it, he thought to himself.

Looking around once more, he went up the tiny staircase and grabbed the lock, getting the bobby pin into it. Feeling around gently so he doesn't break the pin, he finally hears a click and the lock pops off the door, allowing him entry. But, if you are a really good criminal, you know that this may be a trap. Paul opens the door slowly and precautious, looking around the space of darkness as he closed the door behind him. Now that he was inside, Paul did the next best thing. He stood still, listening for any footsteps. It's common knowledge to him that the floors of a fine restaurant were waxed and cleaned at least 3 times per day, making any sound on them easy to the ears. Not to mention he remembered that most of the servers were waitresses with high heels on and chefs had dress shoes with iron bottoms. The owners wanted to know where their staff was at all times. Good thing too, or Paul wouldn't have the ability to be as sneaky.

A few moments went by and Paul started silently walking in the kitchen, sensing his way throughout it by making sure not to bump into counters and such. The air was clean and crisp, along with a bit of stinging as his nostrils inhaled the strong aroma of Clorox and Tilex being put to fantastic use. He wasn't sure where the light switches were, but he could see slightly well due to the moonlight dazing in the window right beside him. Finally able to get to a door at least, he went into what he knew was the dining room. The walls were decorated with pictures that were supposed to give the viewer an image of glamour and luxury. There was a painting of a few showgirls in a line with fake smiles on their faces, each dressed in black and scarlet. The ladies in black clothes had red hearts on them and a giant tophat with a huge heart on it. The other ladies in scarlet had spades sprawled across the scarlet with a red top hat with a giant spade on it. Apparently it was a depiction of a complete Poker Night in Las Vegas. The painting was dated in 1954. Other paintings consisted of Frank Sinatra and Marilyn Monroe. He got a better glance at the two when he finally found the light switch that was next to the aquarium, which consisted of crabs, lobster, shrimp, salmon, and a few other exotic fish unknown to Paul. It was a beautiful place, just like Paul knew it was. Now, to scan the layout.

The restaurant was a three level place, in which there were four sitting areas on the bottom square, then two steps led someone up to the second level which had a few pairs of leather chairs with an ashtray that fit both Virginia Slims and Cuba's finest cigars. He could imagine old men dressed in fine suits, talking about the stock market, laughing. He growled at the thought. He never understood the common rich man. He lived in a world with children dying, people starving, and all he could do was not care and LAUGH? Laugh, you say? Paul had a right mind to steal everything out of this damned place and sell it to Pipe, who would give it to pawn stores.

But what would that accomplish?

Studying the layout, Paul retraced his steps slowly as not to hit anything or get any mud on the floors. He went out of the camouflaged door and locked it back, sticking the bobby pin in his pocket. Now, to Pipes.

The moon was sexy and the stars seductive, all tempting him into being calm for once. Paul was calm.

You had to be calm to make it here.


	3. Lock Up The Heart in Paper

(Author's Note: Sorry that this update took for fucking ever. Paul kind of abandoned me the past few weeks so I haven't been able to reach him. Finally the motherfucker is back though, no?)

The night was beautiful, but in a creepy yet exquisite way. The streets were lined with filth, something that was expected of most streets. Not many people walked these streets at eleven o'clock at night. Paul wondered why, yet he didn't mind the quiet. He couldn't stand the day around here, with all of the people honking their horns and cussing each other out because traffic is slow, like it always was. No, Paul hated the day. He never did care much for hectic or drama. Maybe that's why he always stayed to himself?

Walking along streets, you're bound to see people eventually. Paul did. He saw people walking along the sidewalks, not many though. It was probably about twenty to thirty. There was an old lady with a walker, toothless, and dark green glasses hanging over her bright green eyes. Her hair was dyed a honey color, yet some of her natural gray was mixed in. He also could see a dark caramel skinned woman interlocked hands with a somewhat light tan man. He looked to be Japanese. They were holding hands and looking at each other endearingly in the eyes, his onyx orbs latched onto her milky brown orbs, smiling at each other.

_Cute_, Paul thought to himself, smiling a little bit as he shifted his gaze away. Regardless of his pessimistic view of love, he did like to see people happy. He knew it only lasted a while.

_Where in the fuck is this place? Am I lost? _

Paul searched around, tired of taking a cruise among the streets. He had been to Pipe's multiple times. He didn't forget what the place looked like. Hell, it was a garage in fact. How could you miss a big garage in an area such as this? Surely it stood out.

Thinking, Paul tried to remember the address. _888 Trinity Lane? 898 Triatory Lane? Dammit, what is it?_

The beauty of the night was clouded by a shower of rain that evening, with thunderous clouds being nature's background music and the lightning, which flashed with superfluous brightness, acted like lights, dangerous as they were, which lit Paul's way in a dreary, frightening passion. Annoyed, Paul randomly stomped through streets and streets throughout the area, looking for any garage's that even appeared to be familiar. Pipe's wasn't really much of a fancy guy, and it showed religiously in his clothes and living area. He called it a 'free' environment. Yeah, more like 'nasty as fuck' environment. Then again, what could Paul really say about Pipe? He was living under a bridge. His hair was matted. His beard was matted. His teeth were terrible. His skin was gross and dirty. He really had no right to judge. Of course, when does anyone really have a right to judge?

With what seemed like endless curves of road, Paul finally found a huge neon sign, lit up in bright red letters that said 'Pipe's Fixer Uppin'. This pissed Paul off and relieved him at the same time. First of all, it relieved him because he finally found the damned place in the forsaken streets. But, let's be reasonable. If you knew that you were in the right area but you couldn't find a specific place, wouldn't it piss you off that there was a giant bright sign practically 'marking the X on the treasure map' for you, so to speak?

Letting go of the annoyance, Paul went through a tiny alley that was between Pipe's Garage and Yo-Yo's, a Chinese video game establishment. He continued until he saw to doors. One door belonged to Pipe's and right across from it, a good 26 inches away, was the door to Yo-Yo's personal house. Having a key to Pipe's, Paul inserted it into the lock and twisted until he heard a satisfying click. It was still raining outside.

Paul took off his shoes and closed the door behind him, his bare feet wet on the checkered linoleum floors that covered Pipe's private home and garage. He knocked on the walls, but soon realized probably no one could hear him. He rolled his eyes as he heard the sound of female orgasm blossoming in a bedroom upstairs. Well, Pipe always did love to fuck. So did Shawn. _No wonder they got along_, thought Paul. Roaming around in the kitchen, Paul found a leftover pizza box at the bottom of the fridge. Opening it, the fresh scent of cheese, peppers, and tomato sauce seeped into his nose, giving him a heavenly scent. Paul's stomach went into overdrive, trying its damnest to make him want that food. Shit, he did anyway! He didn't really eat much, so a big, delicious slice of greasy pizza is so what he needed. That and a cold Pepsi. The thought of it made his mouth water.

_Hey, I'm having my own mild culinary orgasm down here! _He thought to himself, chuckling at the term 'culinary orgasm'.

Paul put the pizza in the microwave, set it to the necessary time frame, and sat down with a cold Pepsi, devising his plan. Once again the layout of the restaurant played in his mind. The paintings, the chairs, and the tables were all there. He also remembered the layout of the kitchen, which was flawlessly white on the walls and on the floor. Stoves aligned perfectly on the left side while a huge sink stood proudly in the middle, taking the form of an island counter top. A gigantic fridge was to the left, and the serving window was in the front, where the chef would place the order so the waiter would pick it up. Paul remembered from previous times he's been there what the place looked like.

He wondered what to steal when something caught his eye. It was a 'Gold Mine Alert', which was an ad in the paper that told people when the value of specific items went up. This month, it seems to be that lockets are the newest thing. In fact, lockets had been the biggest thing all month, which was odd, considering the fact that lockets aren't that rare. He wondered why they would be so valuable, until he read on. Apparently, jewelers discovered that lockets have rare gold stored in the chain. Gold that is worth over eight-hundred dollars.

_Shit, I could buy a lot with that amount of money _

Paul could imagine it now. He could probably buy a few books on motorcycles or something. Not to mention he could go to a truck gas stop and buy a shower or something, which was definitely what he needed. He was smart enough to realize that constantly fucking with Pipe over human necessities what going to get old eventually. Annoyed with the fact that he's a potential nuisance, Paul went back into fantasy mode, dreaming of the money he would make if he stole multiple lockets. He could buy so much food and water and books. Hell, if he stole enough, he could even buy a little car or something. The dream of it made him—

"Is there any fucking reason you are staring at a newspaper and grinning like a fucking idiot?" Shawn asked, leaning against the fridge.

"Jesus! Don't scare me like that you cocksucker!" Paul griped, slapping the newspaper back on the desk. He took a sip of Pepsi and huffed. He always did hate being snuck up on.

Shawn laughed and crossed his arms, "Did the city finally grow balls and put nude babes into the paper like I asked them to in that letter I sent to the newspaper company?"

"Ha-ha."

"Who said I was joking?"

"Call me a fucking idiot but the point of a newspaper is to deliver NEWS! And I honestly doubt a pair of tits is big news."

"Meh, depends on the size of the tits. You seen that chick with the huge knockers on tv? I mean they look like she's smuggling 5 basketballs in her chest. That's pretty big news."

"I have no idea why I'm even talking to you about this."

"Because you're a lonely bastard who lives under a bridge" Shawn said, doing a fake pout and cry.

"Fuck you."

Paul got up and got his pizza, going back to the table and devouring the slice slowly, savoring the flavor. Shawn sat on the chair opposite of him, and looked at Paul with a sudden seriousness in his eyes.

"You're out of money, aren't you bro?" Shawn asked, crossing his arms once again.

"Always am."

"But you won't always be."

"You don't know that."

"No…but I do know that YOU know that."

"You aren't making clear sense." Paul said, biting into the pizza, watching one of the pepperonis fall on the plate. He sipped his Pepsi.

"If you want to live under a goddamn bridge the rest of your life, that's honestly up to you."

"I'm doing the best I can."

"Bullshit. The best you can is probably going back home."

That hit a nerve. Paul's face began to twist in anger, which didn't happen too much. "_Are you fucking kidding me! I did everything I fucking could to get away from there. I know this would be tough! God, I have to steal from other people just so I won't starve. It rots my conscience on the inside out."_

Shawn's face didn't flinch or twitch at the rise of Paul's insane anger. He kept a normal composure. He knew Paul was putting himself through hell. He knew Paul had come from a rough background and he knew Paul had about had it with his family. Paul was almost a man now though, so why couldn't he just have stayed there a bit longer? He made it through all these years, and now he decides to take charge and leave? He's too old and too intimidating to be put in a homeless shelter. In Shawn's eyes, Paul was utterly ignorant. He couldn't survive out in the world. Neither could Shawn. Shawn had left his own family and now he was shacked up with Pipe. But, Paul was too headstrong. He wouldn't listen to Shawn for anything. So, Shawn just guessed that Paul would have to crash and burn before he learned his lesson.

Not wanting to respond to the previous statement, Shawn looked up at Paul, "Well, it's quite obvious you're planning on stealing something. Where the fuck are you going?"

"I don't feel obligated to share that information with you." Griped Paul, finishing off the pizza and Pepsi and discarding them in a small black wastebasket that hung by the cheap, white refrigerator. Shawn had pissed Paul off, and with reason too. In Paul's eyes, Shawn didn't understand a damn thing about his thought process or anything. Sure, Shawn left his fucking family, but that's because they were trying to help him get out of alcohol. Paul had no reason to be…treated like he was.

" Boys, boys, boys! Ain't no need to be fightin'" said Pipe, emerging from downstairs in onyx boxers that covered what was being pounded into his girlfriend earlier. Pipe was a simple guy. He loved to flirt, loved to fuck, and loved his girlfriend and his job. He didn't need fancy things. He loved cars and he loved family. That's why Paul always loved Pipe in the brotherly way. He was and has always been there to help out.

Sighing, Shawn nodded, too frustrated with his buddy Paul. He gave Paul a measly good-bye and went back up to his room. Paul sighed and just shook his head. Pipe ignored the bittersweet departure the two had just shared. He didn't like being too nosy.

_I should change the subject, _thought Pipe to himself. Rolling out a blunt and lighting it, Pipe smiled at Paul, "You lookin' kinda rough."

Paul laughed, "You aren't so hot either, ya sweaty pig."

"That's your jealousy talking. At least I get some."

Paul laughed, "I don't want any of 'some' from Marta! Are you crazy? She's my sister."

"You've still thought about it," insisted Pipe. _Good point, _thought Paul. It was true. Marta was a beautiful girl with a delicious ethnic background. She was Chinese, Korean, Brazilian, Irish, and Cherokee. She had beautiful tan skin that was flawless. Her dark brown hair waves down to the middle of her back. She had light freckles on her face and dark, haunting green eyes. Her hips were wide and her waist was narrow. Also, her caring and nurturing personality is what drew Paul in like a brother. She took in everyone. But, like all humans, she has her flaws. She is quite ignorant to danger and she is quite too eager to trust. It hasn't gotten her in danger, but Paul is always afraid it will one day.

Paul just rolled his eyes at his friend, "How can I not when the woman is moaning like a wildebeest?"

"Oh, damn. You heard her?"

"Her moans are what make people go deaf. Yes, of course I heard her," Paul said, a bit annoyed. He didn't like the image of his 'sister' getting pounded by his best friend into oblivion. It made his stomach gurgle. For a moment, he thought the yummy pizza was going to end up all over the floor.

"Oh…well, sorry."

"Yeah."

"Anyways, there is a reason you came here to see me. I overheard you and Shawn talk about some stealing plot."

"Yes."

Pipe nodded, leaning against the counter with a Corona in his hand. "Alright, spill."

"I've been needing money. So, I decided to do another jewelry detour. This time I'm going to Juliardette. I just saw in the paper that there is a high demand for lockets."

"Oh yeah I saw that. Pretty smart area. Women do love their lockets and such."

"Right. So, I need help."

"Let me guess," said Pipe, sipping his alcohol and looking back, "you need us to hook you up with some fancy threads and get Chewbacca off of your fucking chin. Right?"

"You got it."

"Look, I'll only do it on one condition this time."

Paul's mind got a little on the edge. Pipe never really asked for anything in return. Of course it didn't bother Paul that his friend needed some requirements to be met, it's just that it never happened before. Pipe was always the guy to help first then ask later. I guess 'always' is such a word like 'never', neither of them really exist.

"Alright, what is it?"

"I need some of the money Paul. For personal reasons." Pipe said, with an unusual serious look in his dark eyes. Paul didn't need to know why. His friend needed a favor. Paul owed him a million times. That doesn't shake the slight worry he had for Pipe's unusual seriousness, though.

Nodding, Paul confirmed, "Okay."

Then, immediately as if a switch had been flipped, Pipe had turned normal. He called for Marta.

"Well, Marta, Paul wants to look pretty. So, do your work my baby," said Pipe, pecking his Marta on the head then whispering something in a language foreign to Paul. Marta nodded and grinned at Paul, grabbing his hand and leading him up to the bathroom.

"Let's go muffin!" Marta exclaimed, pushing Paul into the bathroom. She ordered him to dress down for a shower. After a few minutes of being trapped in a small bathroom, Marta exclaimed "Paul, is there any reason you smell like a dirty, egg rotten ballsack as of this very moment?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a homeless man who lives under a goddamn bridge. I mean, sure I could use the sewer water that flows by me."

"Then you'd smell like a shitty, dirty, egg rotten ballsack."

"Yeah, so let's leave the shit out of it."

"Scrub your fucking skin, you son of a dick." Marta said in a cheery tone, taunting Paul. Paul just laughed and shook his head, but deep inside he felt dark. He felt the guilt of what tomorrow would bring. Even if they were rich bastards, they had their belongings. Paul was going to steal from another person once again. He hated doing this. He hated that he had to steal a man's belongings just to survive. It shouldn't be like this.

_I don't want to be like this…_

_(A/N: Okay, for those of you who are a bit impatient and are wondering when the hell Stephanie will appear. Bear with me :D She will show. She will show ^_^)_


End file.
